


English Bluebells

by offbrandpeanutbutter



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Amazingphil - Freeform, Comfort, Flowers, M/M, Not a flower au, Phan - Freeform, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, danisnotonfire - Freeform, dont get scared of that pls, i tried to distance the story a bit from it, mentions of family members
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offbrandpeanutbutter/pseuds/offbrandpeanutbutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The flower extended high in the air, when it droops, lowering its head. Its silk like petals curl up, forming like a bell. There were rows of them, their blue lavender color reminding him of the sliver of daylight before dusk</p>
            </blockquote>





	English Bluebells

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Beautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296137) by [SkiesOfSilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkiesOfSilver/pseuds/SkiesOfSilver). 



Phil remembers the first day it happened. He was eight years old, still run on innocence and a wonder for the world. There was grass underneath his bare feet, soaring in an empty field dotted with pansies and crude flowers poking their heads from the grass bed. The bordering forest separating his home and the open field was far behind him. Phil was grateful for this, a breath of grassy air from grey skies. 

His grandmother had told him it was going to rain tonight, like so many other nights. Phil wondered why so, why such a lovely place for hiding had to be doused with sadness. Phil's thoughts wandered with him around the field. He wanted to have some outside in his room, where it can always smell like roses and a lazy day outside.

His bushy blond hair covered his peripherals but he could clearly see a radiant patch of garden. These weren't like the purple ones where he could easily trample. Phil felt the setting sun on the nape of his neck as he ran to the garden. All the other plants were ones he's seen before; roses, vanilla flowers chrysanthemums…

The flower extended high in the air, when it droops, lowering its head. Its silk like petals curl up, forming like a bell. There were rows of them, their blue lavender color reminding him of the sliver of daylight before dusk. The curls were tangling, trying to sit up again, long rods of yellow peeking. These were so different than the ones in the shop, always showing off its bright colors and petals to its window. This one, however, looked so modest, reserved, and so miserable too.

A sudden drop of wet coolness tapped Phil's finger.

He darted his baby blue eyes up to the sky, now reflecting the dank and cold grey of the air above him. More drops fell on him and the bells. Without thinking twice, Phil ripped off a sprout of the chimes before sprinting back to his barrier, the grass underneath his feet now stung with uncomfortable numbness.

The boy still clutched to his bell, peering through the pine trees where he could look down at his home. The lights were on and flooded the grass and garden around it, like a watch house. The rain pounded and screeched at Phil, while he kept running. The night grew darker and wearier, the lights from his house on the hill growing brighter until the door opened.

His mother’s frantic expression glazed away inti look of comfort and a very mother like twinkle in her eyes. Her words, as sudden and brisk as they were, drowned out the sound of the cold drops attacking him.

“It’s much past your bedtime, little one” 

Phil raised his sopping arm to her, a smile so wide it practically danced across his face. The bell was crumpled and wrinkled now, its blue color amist draining, but it's silky texture still tickled his palm.  
She gingerly took it from his hand, holding it like a child.

Phil felt her fingers comb through his hair, he could feel what was left of the thick stem tangled in blond curls. The rumpled curls kissed his forehead as he was led inside.

Hours later, after his mother had tucked him in and shut off his lights, all that was left was the soft drumming of the rain outside of his window and dim starlight tracing its way into his room. Every thing seemed so surreal, like a dream. Phil pushed over his quilted covers to run to his little desk where she had placed his little bell.

There was enough light to see it, a frail blossom holding itself up with its pale petals. Phil didn't want to think of how this flower was destroyed and lifeless, but how it gave such a nice little chime in his life. His own bluebell.

That's when the tickling started on his arm.

Phil looked down, clumsily stepping towards his window to see his arm, the carpet underneath his feet like the grass on his toes. His eyes wandered to his soft forearm, cool black ink strokes appearing from nowhere. 

Phil being entranced was an understatement. He plopped down and watched eagerly at the increasing strokes. He had remembered his Grandmother telling him about this, when your soulmate would write or draw on their arm it would end up on yours as well. She said had never met them, whoever they were drawing on their skin, but they still drew as time ticked by. She said with her floating voice, it didn't matter to them anymore finding each other at least. All that they had shared was this beautiful blessing with each other and that was more than they could've asked for. Phil look at Grandma’s bare arm, but there weren’t any drawings on them, or so it looked for quite a while.

“Why isn't there any now?” 

“You’ll understand when you get as old as me, Philip” 

She had spoken so tenderly too..

Everything else faded around his arm, the strokes becoming lighter and thinner. He could feel the marker pressed against his porcelain skin, like a ghost. There was a portrayal of a bulge near his wrist, then it curved in and out again, curling near the edge to his elbow. The strips were so delicately created, almost effortless. Phil could feel it.

Then he realized 

It was his bell

Phils eyes went wider than they ever had before. He even began to see lavender streaks line the inky lining, the broken off stem just like the one he had held in his hand, tinted with a saturated jade. It was almost like his arm was transforming into a petal, as Phil rubbed his silky smooth arm, careful not to smear the work of art on his arm. He didn't notice until a few moments that it had stopped. The sensation and joy dissipated through the boy's veins. Tomorrow he promised to add on another bell, maybe growing like a row of chimes like he remembered. Phil stuck with his positive thoughts, happiness radiating off his body as he jumped back into his cool covers.

He fell asleep with a lavender vision and the rain stopping.

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.thompson-morgan.com/flowers/flower-bulbs-and-tubers/other-flower-bulbs-and-tubers/english-bluebells/p7146TM  
> Let me know if you want more!


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